


Imprint

by Annie17851



Series: Slices of Destiel [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, pre-slash; episode 5x01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 00:10:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2328140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie17851/pseuds/Annie17851
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean tries to sleep; Dean also wonders what the angel of the Lord carved on his ribs</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imprint

**Author's Note:**

> Dean tries to sleep; Dean also wonders what the angel of the Lord carved on his ribs; coda, episode 5x01, Sympathy for the Devil

IMPRINT 

 

Another cheap-ass motel in another cheap-ass town. Dean tries to sleep, but that’s as useless as usual

It’s the guilt, of course, for telling Sam that he just doesn't think he can trust him anymore. Although, when Sam was laying on the floor without lungs, dying, trust never entered the picture. But Castiel did.

How that happened is a question Dean can only puzzle about in his over-tired brain. The ‘why’ of it might be a little easier. Dean and Sam would be dead and gone, if not for Heaven’s most disobedient angel. Cas intimated that God was the one who brought the angel back from the dead, and put the brothers on a plane to distance them from the newly-freed Lucifer.

Dean runs his hands lightly over his sides, shooting a sudden burst of coolness down the length of himself. He presses firmly against the hardness of his ribs, fingers exploring each one, imagining he can feel the Enochian sigils Castiel said he had carved there. His body relives the heated touch of the angel’s hand on his chest, the burning-brand feel of it, even through his shirts. A twitch of – something – in his stomach, a disquieting urge to move his hands down a bit further and that makes Dean tear his hands away from himself abruptly.

What the hell, Winchester? bolts through his mind unsettlingly. 

Go the fuck to sleep already.


End file.
